Tales of the wanderer
by PolarisWhatever
Summary: Once upon a time, when legends were not only legends, and the moonlight brought to life beings that the human mind cannot even begin to imagine, the Wanderer of Tales walked this earth to bring the old stories to life. Dark!Fairytales.


Tales of the wanderer

Candleinthebox

Fantasy/Horror

Rating: M, for some very graphic gore and blood

Note: My inspiration for this piece comes from many things, among which are Tm Burton's movies, the Korean movie _Hansel and Gretel_, the amazing online comic _No rest for the wicked_, and of course, Perrault, Grimm and Andersen's fairytales. Each chapter will be drawn from a fairytale that I will twist and turn until it gets all weird. Also, please suspend your disbelief while reading this story. It isn't supposed to make any sense. Fairytales never make sense, and that's why I love them so much!

Oh, and if you can't tell, this is supposed to be at least a bit scary. But then I suck at horror stories. Let's pretend I did not just say that.

Mistakes may be found, in which case I'd love you to report them so hopefully, I won't make them again. Any critic or advice will be welcomed, and all reviews will be treasured. I'm still looking for a beta, so if you're good at grammar and spelling and have some time to waste, you can PM me and I will worship you forever.

I'll try not to be too slow with updates, but I can't promise anything, so if you liked the story… please, bear with me.

* * *

**Prologue: The witch's forest**

_The witch is gone, is gone, for good_

_We got the witch inside the woods_

_We tied her up with solid rope_

_And threw her in boiling water_

_We pushed her into the furnace_

_Cooked her, roasted her, fried her_

_And we ate until our stomachs were full_

_Oh the witch is gone, is gone, for good!_

The villagers had said not to go into the woods at night.

It was common sense, really, for the nights were cold and the wind biting like swords of ice, and who knew what terrible beasts were lurking between the trees? But those were the tangible, common dangers of wild lands, and Thomas Vandermark had travelled enough that, while he stayed prudent, he did not fear them anymore. If he armed herself with a map, a good lamp and his trusty cane, which was as useful as a weapon as it was as a walking stick, he should cross them with not too much difficulty. No, he answered firmly to their pleas and warnings, he could not wait for the day to rise, it was most urgent that he took his message to the governor of the next town, and he was already delaying himself enough by accepting to share their dinner in the village inn. Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing, and he would be perfectly safe, not to worry. Then the real warnings came, and really, he should have expected all along that such a subject would be brought up in the conversation. After all, every village down the road had them: the ghosts in the wells, the spirits hidden in the trees, the trolls behind the mountains. And the most frequent, widespread of them, of course: the witch.

As a man who was well educated and versed in sciences, Thomas felt nothing but contempt towards those ridiculous tales and superstitious beliefs, invented by gullible and ignorant peasants for equally ignorant and gullible minds. But he also knew to be polite towards his hosts, and kept his mouth graciously shut while not so hushed whispers of terrible visions sighted during moonless nights went around the room, contenting himself with quietly rolling his eyes as the tales became more and more fantastic and absurd. At least, such stories had the advantage to keep children in their home past dusk and reckless ones from wandering too far when it was not safe. And it gave people something to talk about around fireplaces during long, damp autumn evenings like this one.

"I heard them! Children's voices, chanting the same frightful words again and again…"

"Hands appeared in the branches of the trees and tried to reach for me… "

"A blood-curling scream…"

"And the baker's brother, they never saw him again…"

The woodcutter made wild gestures and the young man let his gaze wander around the room, his hands twitching on the leather strap of his travelling bag in impatience and annoyance. He let his eyes stop on the woman – or rather the girl – who was sitting beside him, listening to the old man's ramblings with a wistful smile. She had arrived at the village around the same time as he, clad in a dirty, worn-out pelt, with only a small leather satchel hanging on her shoulder. The hair falling on her shoulders like battered straw was grey, just like her large, placid eyes, but her long and pale face was devoid of lines and wrinkles, and she could not have been much older than eighteen. But despite her strange looks, she seemed sane and sensible enough, and he turned to her with an affable smile.

"You do not believe to these stories either, do you?"

The girl smiled, her eyes still inexpressive.

"Oh, whether I believe or not does not really matter, because they do, sir…"

"Vandermark. Thomas Vandermark. I apologize in advance for my rudeness, but, miss, I cannot help to wonder about the reasons that would bring a young lady in such a desolate place at such a late hour."

"Nice to meet you, sir Vandermark. I am older than I look." She softly chuckled, in a way that somehow, did not seem like laughter at all. "But I thank you for your concern. And to answer your question, I am merely a wanderer, going where my feet bring me."

Thomas knew not to press an issue when the other party obviously did not want to elaborate on it.

"In this case, I hope you do not mind such boldness, but since I need to cross these woods too, would you by chance accept that I be you escort tonight? It will be much pleasant to have somebody to talk to when the sky is dark and the travel trying, and we can keep away together from the ghosts and their deadly chants."

"It will be my pleasure." The woman answered politely.

Dusk had just fallen when they left the village under the worried stares of its residents. The woman was not much of a talker. While she answered most civilly to all of his attempts at small talk, she made no effort to start a conversation, and they soon fell in companionable silence. The moon was in its last quarter, and they walked at least an hour before they heard anything at all. Of course there was the sound of twigs creaking under their feet sinisterly and the wind in the trees like demonic moans, but their stomachs were full, their feet steady, and they neither jumped nor cried out even when a small nocturnal animal suddenly leaped in their path in a flurry of earth and dried leaves.

"Did you hear? The villagers say there is a witch in these woods. They say she kidnaps children and eats them, and that it is their cries you can hear at night. Not a very original story, is it?"

"You are quite right." She softly said, her grey eyes searching the dark sky between the thick foliage of the trees.

That was when it started. It was a low sound, a faraway murmur that could have been the whisper of the wind or the rustle or leaves, but somehow was not. Thomas turned around and scrutinized the darkness behind them, but there was nothing but an empty path. Maybe he had imagined it? The young man strained his ears, and there it was, so soft that he could almost miss it under the beating of his heart. But it was there. Something cracked close to his left side, and he suddenly straightened, eyes darting around.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Nothing." Thomas mumbled, berating himself for suddenly being so impressionable. The townspeople's tales must have troubled him more than he thought, and it was true that the settings were quite disquieting... He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. After showing so obvious contempt for their stories, he could not let himself fall prey and to fear and confusion. He was a rational and scientific man, after all.

But there it was, once again! This time, the noise was closer, louder, and it sounded like… humming? Almost like… Thomas felt his heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. The villagers _had_ talked about children's voices. Could it really…

"Sir Vandermark? The villagers said to turn left at the elm tree with a white stone at its base, but we have been walking for some time now, and I have not seen any sign of it yet. I am afraid that we might be lost."

"Lost?" His attention snapped back to the girl beside him, who still looked almost eerily calm. "It cannot be. My map…"

"Maps are sometimes useless in the woods at the dead of the night," she smiled.

"We are to engaged too deep to try to go back to the village now. Let us walk forward."

So they walked. It was rather striking, Thomas thought, to see how much his perception of things could change with a little suggestion. Not a half-hour ago he had been calm and assured, and the trees around him had been nothing but ordinary wood trunks with harmless branches, and the sounds of the twigs and fallen leaves under his feet had been anything but meaningless. Now every branch looked like an emaciated limb reaching out to grab him, every noise had a sinister quality, and the cold breeze caressing his face felt like a demonic beast breathing down his neck. He raised his eyes to the sky to distract himself, and the moon stared back, like a gigantic, cyclopean silver eye. Even the lady of the sky looked hostile, the young man thought to himself with a shudder. Gazing ahead, he suddenly caught sight of something behind the trees, a little further to their right. Signalling to his travelling companion to stop a moment, he made his way in the vegetation, wincing every time a sharp branch grazed his skin.

"I found a house!" He called back. "If it is inhabited, we might be able to ask for directions, and in the worst case, we will have a place to rest until the sun rises."

The girl did not answer, but she quietly caught up with him, grey eyes reflecting the moonlight. The edifice that lay in front of them was more of a cabin than a real house, but it looked strikingly out of place in the middle of the forest. It had the appearance of a dollhouse, small but charming, with a red roof, a door painted in green and two square windows, like a child's drawing.

- _And when they approached the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar - _

Thomas suddenly remembered a tale his mother used to read him when he was a child, when he was still afraid of the shadows under his bed. What was it about again? Something about a witch luring children with a house made of candy to eat them… but he was not a child anymore, he told himself with conviction. Even if witches did exist, which was certainly not the case, they certainly would not want to eat a full grown, and likely hard-skinned man, he inwardly added with a chuckle.

Swallowing a sudden, strange feeling of uneasiness, he rapped his knuckled against the door.

Rustling could be heard inside, then the door was suddenly open, and a little voice, as sweet as the lovely red roof, piped up.

"Who's there?"

The little girl was somewhere between eight and ten years old, with two neat braids framing a pointy, freckles-covered face. She stared up at him trough her bangs with a measuring gaze for a few seconds, and her lips stretched into a smile.

"I am very sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, Miss", he started, voice amiable and kind because he had always believed in the necessity to treat children kindly, and certainly not like unimportant, useless half-beings as he had sadly often seen in the cities, where so many little dirt-caked hands had tugged on his shirt to ask for a piece of bread, "but my companion", he gestured to the girl standing beside him, "and I have lost our way, and we were wondering if you would be so kind as to direct us. Are your parents home?"

"Parents?" At that, the child gave a brief, clear laugh, as though the question was utterly preposterous. "Oh no. But you can come in."

She disappeared inside, and Thomas, feeling at loss, turned to the girl with a questioning gaze. But she remained unmoving, her eyes fixated on his, and suddenly, the strangest thought crossed his mind. _She really is older than I thought. _But it was gone as rapidly as it had come to him, and he could not have said for the life of him if the words he heard were really coming from her mouth or were simply a figment of his imagination, the sound of the wind twisted and humanized by a confused mind.

"You could still go back."

So he shrugged, and with a falsely confident smile, he stepped into the house, her footsteps quietly following his in the way she seemed to glide through everything.

The interior of the house was exactly what he had expected, in a way that he really had not thought possible at all. The whole house was constituted of an unique, square room, the walls were painted in a warm brown like ginger bread just coming out of the oven, and the floor was covered by a thick anise-green carpet, on which were strewn various toys and dolls that nobody had bothered to pick up. A wide metal furnace was occupying the totally of the back wall, sparks and hot air flying from its closed door. In the centre of the room was set a table, with a beautiful white cloth and a dozen of miniature plates aligned in perfect symmetry, with matched glasses and cutlery, tiny dishes, saltshaker, sauce boat, water pitcher, candleholders and everything anybody could have asked for. In fact, the only thing missing was actually the food itself.

And for each plate, there was a child sitting quietly at the table in a wooden chair, hands folded on their lap, as though waiting for something or somebody. The smallest one looked like he could not have been any older than five years old, and the oldest had not yet reached adolescence, and they were all clean and dressed tidily.

"Sit down", the braided girl said, "We were just going to eat."

"No, Miss", Thomas answered with a smile, "I could not possibly impose on you, besides, I have to reach the next town before noon tomorrow. I just wanted to ask if you knew the way…"

"It's useless" a red-haired boy who looked about twelve announced gravely, "You won't get anywhere before the sun rises."

"Mister, you're going to stay, right?" asked an adorable little girl who had pink round cheeks and curly blonde hair, just like a doll.

"Well I…"

"You have to stay." The braided girl insisted.

He looked down at their lovely, smiling faces, and he felt strange warmth fill his body from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. The air smelled like freshly baked bread and roasting meat and it made his mouth water, the tablecloth was immaculate and inviting and he did feel weary, and why not rest for a while after all, why not sit beside those charming children and enjoy a comfortable supper, the message could wait a little more… Before he could control himself, he felt himself sit on a larger chair placed at the end of the table (was it there when he entered the room?), and the simple motion sent a wave of relief in his sore limbs. He was lost anyway, and could not do much about it, so why not take advantage of the occasion to take a break? He was always out on the roads, travelling over hill and dale. A little break could not hurt for once.

The braided girl walked to the furnace, and pulled out a large dish of what looked like roasted meat cooked in brown sauce. Thomas felt his stomach rumble. Strange, did he not have eaten not too long ago at the village inn? But all thoughts were discarded when the girl brought the dish to the table, and all the children started clapping in glee at the sight.

"Please, have some", the girl said, serving him a large helping in a silver ladle.

The meat smelled truly delightful, and he gingerly brought his fork to his mouth. The taste was foreign, unlike anything he had ever eaten before, nor pork neither beef, sweet and strong at the same time, and it was tender under his teeth. The sauce was rich, creamy, and flowed in his throat like ambrosia. Suddenly finding himself starved, he chewed and masticated and swallowed without restraint, stopping himself only to drink long gulps from his glass, which was always helpfully refilled. The sound of a bone cracking under his teeth startled him, and he pulled the piece from his mouth as gracefully as he could to set it on his plate. In the motion, he noticed something very odd about the situation, an unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at his mind for some time, but that he had pushed to the back of his head, entranced that he was in his occupation. Suddenly, it all clicked together: the lack of noise, the meat that came in larger and larger servings on his plate. The spell broke, and an odd sensation of dread settling in the pit of his stomach, Thomas raised his head.

None of the children were eating. They were all watching him with big, hungry eyes, like a hawk looking at its prey.

Ice spreading in his limbs, he looked back at his plate, at the oddly shaped bone that had disturbed him in his eating, and retched.

It was a human finger.

Thomas' eyes widened, and he bolted from his chair, hastily taking a step back, his gaze never leaving the small, round faces, and the smiles that did not look so sweet anymore.

"You… what are you? What did you do?"

"What is it?" A little boy – no, not a boy, that _thing_ was not a child at all – innocently asked. "Is the food not to your liking?"

"It's… that… it cannot be…"

"Human flesh, you mean? Of course it is." The blonde-haired girl sweetly said. "What did you think it was?"

They were all surrounding him, and before his horrified eyes, the little white teeth changed into sharp fangs and the nails into claws, sparks of red and golden dancing in their eyes. His throat constricted until he could barely breathe, and a searing flame scorched the inside of his entrails. And there was the humming, the faraway sound now becoming all too close and intelligible, pounding in his head like a thousand of drums.

_We got the witch inside the woods…_

"She was a mean lady." The braided girl said, her cute nose crinkling in distaste. "She wanted to do bad things to us."

"She took us away."

"She kept us locked in".

"So we took our revenge."

The young man pressed shaking hands to his ears, and took another step back. His back collided roughly with the wall behind him, and the shock sent him on his knees, groaning from the throbbing pain.

"Please stop… stop singing… no…"

_We pushed her into the furnace_

_Cooked her, roasted her, fried her_

_And we ate until our stomachs were full_

_Oh the witch is gone, is gone, for good!_

In one second, the children were on him, nails and teeth ripping skin and digging into flesh with enthusiastic shrieks like a flock of birds descending on breadcrumbs. Their small hands tore the hair from his scalp and shred his clothes to pieces, pushed their way inside his mouth to pull his tongue out and dug into his sockets to retrieve the slippery eyes. They grabbed his entrails to play with like ribbons, ripped his still beating heart out and sucked on his bones.

While her companions feasted on the corpse with small cries of delight, the braided girl, her face smeared with blood, turned to the woman who had been standing in the corner of the room, looking away from the sickening display.

"Hey, you. Do you really think we are going to let you leave like that?"

The woman slowly turned to her, her face drawn and weary in the candlelight.

"I know you will not. But you have no power over me, monster."

With a shriek of anger, the little girl leaped on her, claws forward.

But as she reached for her, her eyes suddenly widened, and with a last surprised shout, she dissolved into dust.

The woman turned away and disappeared into the forest.

TBC…


End file.
